What Next?
by Pirotessa
Summary: Drizzt is taken to Tortall, where no one has heard of his kind. A Tamora Pierce and Forgotten Realms crossover.
1. Default Chapter

What Next?  
  
NEWS FLASH: I was reading my brothers Shadows of Amn manual, and it gave a description of Drizzt. Contrary to popular belief, his name is not pronounced Drizzit. Instead, it is pronounced Dritst. Remember that now. Disclaimer: You know the drill.  
  
Drizzt smirked as he advanced on the charging war party. The front line looked distinctly uncomfortable at having to meet the now-famous drow ranger head on. Catti-Brie stood beside him, nocking an arrow to her bow. As one of the attackers came into range, she smoothly drew back the string and shot him (The attacker, not Drizzt.) He stood for a minute, looking confused, then slowly fell backwards, clutching the sprouting arrow in his chest.  
  
"Well shot!" was Drizzt's comment before leaping into the fray. Drizzt was in top form this morning, weaving through the mob, leaving a trail of dead behind him. His friends strayed behind; using their foe's momentary confusion to admire the drow elf's flawless fighting skills. Then, remembering themselves, they too picked up the fight. In a short time, the party was dead, leaving only the now desperate wizard. Then, an idea came to him, and his look of terror transformed into the smirk of a man who has nothing to lose. He pointed at the advancing Drizzt, and said three unintelligible words. Drizzt, in the eyes of his disbelieving friends, stiffened. A strangled cry escaped him, and he was gone. The wizard began to laugh, softly at first, but then began shrieking in maniacal laughter. The laughter broke off suddenly, silenced forever by one of the now- hysterical Catti-Brie's arrows. 


	2. Alanna's Encounter

What Next?  
Chapter Two  
  
Drizzt felt a painful jerking sensation, then the sound of rushing wind, and, finally....birdsong? He groaned and sat up, trying to block out the pain in his head, and failing. Frankly, he felt like he had been stomped on by a tundra yeti. Repeatedly. Frowning, he pulled himself to his feet. His surroundings were totally unfamiliar. Light filtered through lofty tree branches, shafts of sunlight falling upon the forest floor. He squinted and pulled up his hood, for the light still stung his delicate eyes, even after years of exposure. He looked around once more, and, having no better solution, started to walk. If not for the fact that he was miles away from his friends and taken to a place he had never been before, he would have enjoyed the walk. It was early fall, the weather was perfect, and the trees had a slight golden tinge to them. A crisp breeze swept by him, bringing the promise of winter, but Drizzt smelled something out of the ordinary. Wood smoke. Quickening his stride, he saw that the trees thinned out up ahead. He came to a ledge, gasped, and fell to his knees.  
  
"How is it possible?" he gasped. "Where am I?"  
  
Spreading out before him was the city of Corus, the largest city Drizzt had ever seen. The smoke he had smelled came from hundreds of chimneys, but the crowning effect was a large castle on a hill, standing majestically at the head of the valley, looking for all the world like a monarch, shrugging away the smaller buildings. Once Drizzt had regained his composure, he started down toward the city. Just in case, he kept his hood up, in the event that these people had qualms about drow elves. Also, when he came to the city limits, he made sure to keep his head down. A few people looked strangely at the cloaked stranger, but shrugged it off. ............................................................................................................ Jonathan, King of Tortall, sighed and leaned back in his chair.  
  
"At least that ordeal is over." he said. "How did Alanna take it?"  
  
"Not very well, really." said George, Baron of Pirate's Swoop.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"She still can't believe that our daughter is in the Copper Isles, trying to put a half-raka queen on the throne. Not only is she trying to pull off this trick under the noses of the Royal Family, she's trying to trick two major gods as well."  
  
Jonathan winced and said soberly, "I wish her all the luck in the world, then."  
  
"Amen to that." agreed George. "By the way, where is Alanna?"  
  
"She told me she was going down to the market place. She deserves a break, what with the war and Aly being so far away."  
  
"I wish I could have a break," grumped Jonathan, glaring at the pile of paper on his desk.  
  
George came to his feet, stretched, and sighed. "I'm going to go and get a drink."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"No you don't."  
  
Before Jonathan could reply, George had left.  
  
............................................................................................................  
  
Alanna grumbled as she sifted through the pile of silks. Usually, shopping calmed her down, but this time, it wasn't helping.  
  
Why did she stay? Why didn't she come home when she had the chance? She could be dead by now, for all I know! Then, abruptly, her mind reined itself in. She's sixteen now. She is old enough to take care of herself! She stood up and scowled. She hated the reasonable part of her mind.  
  
"Do you have any silks in red?" she asked the awed merchant.  
  
"Yes, my lady," said the poor man. After all, it's not every day that the King's Champion comes into your store. "I'll get it at once."  
  
While waiting for the silks, Alanna leaned against the counter, still thinking about Aly's problem, when screams and shouts interrupted her musings. She drew her sword and ran outside. An enormous man stood in the middle of the street, holding a huge sword. He was gibbering insanely, and there was foam around his mouth. He was quite obviously mad. The man howled and pounded down the crowded street, shrieking as he went, scattering people left and right, until his path was clear of all people. Except for one. The person was tall and slender, and walked with a grace that a queen would envy. The madman howled in triumph, and brought the sword whistling down on the man's head. Alanna ran forward, hoping that she could stop the blade in time. But her help was not needed. *CLANG* The blade struck the cobblestones. Alanna blinked in surprise. He had dodged the blow. The madman, infuriated, swept his sword sideways, but the man ducked under the blow, leapt up, and kicked the man in the face. Under the flurry of blows, the stranger dodged every one. Finally, the madman brought his sword down with all his strength. Alanna gasped. There was no dodging this one. But the stranger whipped his arms down and drew his weapons. He had two slightly curved swords. One was worth a king's ransom, covered with jewels. The other one, Alanna would have sworn by every god she knew of that it very faintly glowed blue. He beat the man back with a skill she gaped at. He was poetry in motion; he danced and dodged each blow, fluidly weaving in and out. Alanna caught on and grinned. He was taunting his opponent into doing something stupid. When the madman lurched forward, he leapt forward, and slammed the hilts of his swords into the man's temples. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed. The stranger sheathed his swords, and started off, the respectful bystanders clearing a path for him. But he stopped, and looked back at the unconscious man, and walked back. He knelt by the comatose man, slung his pack off his shoulder, and rummaged through his pack. He drew out his hand, holding a large blue bottle. He uncorked it, pried open the man's mouth, and poured it in. the man instinctively swallowed. Under the unbelieving eyes of the townspeople, a column of blue and white light swirled around the man, soaking into his skin. The man twitched and groaned, and his eyes fluttered opened.  
  
"Mithros, what happened?" he moaned "Why does my head hurt?"  
  
"I'm sorry," said the stranger politely." I'm afraid you went mad." His accent was strange. "I had to knock you unconscious. The blow cleared your head."  
  
The man came to his feet, grunting slightly.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry. If there's anything I can do...,"  
  
"There is. Could you tell me where I could buy a horse?"  
  
"I can do better than that. I own a stable. It's the least I could do. This way, please."  
  
Alanna watched the two walk off. She returned to the store, her head spinning. Who was that man? 


	3. Interlude

Interlude  
  
I am very sorry, but I'm afraid that "What Next?" will not get updated for some time now, due to a lack of reviews, writer's block, and the fact that my other story, "Mage's Mistake", is doing so much better. However, I give my thanks to the two people who did review me. Anyway, Happy Easter, and hope that I find inspiration soon!  
-DrowAngel 


	4. Fainting Spell

Yes, I've decided to update. No need to jump around, it's going to be a small one.  
  
...  
  
Drizzt inhaled deeply once he entered the stable. It was filled with familiar sounds and smells—Low neighs, the sound of horses shifting from hoof to hoof, the scent of them—at that moment he felt less stressed then he had all day. He felt eyes then, and turned slightly. His host was staring at him—or, more specifically, his cloak.  
  
"My skin is very pale," he said in way of explanation. It seemed like a rather feeble excuse, so he elaborated on it a bit. 'To take off my hood would invite sunburn."  
  
The owner of the stalls nodded, and murmured some consolation under his breath. Drizzt sighed to himself, hating to lie to this kind man who was providing him with a horse.  
  
...  
  
Daine gently added the ointment to the mare's hoof and tied a bandage around it, while the admiring stable hand looked on.  
  
"She'll be all right, but make sure the horseshoe is nailed on tightly next time, or it could be worse."  
  
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Mistress Daine. Lady here is a favorite of mine, and I would hate for her to get seriously hurt."  
  
Daine smiled and began wiping her hands on a rag, when a yell came from the front of the stable.  
  
"Hey, Shawn! Where are you, boy?"  
  
The stable hand stood from his kneeling position and shouted back,  
  
"Lan, you old fool, where have you been for all this time?"  
  
A grinning, burly man wove through the stalls, and began speaking animatedly with Shawn. He was followed closely by a hooded, cloaked man. Daine was startled to see this, however. It was late summer, and cloaks were tucked away in chests. Then she saw another oddity. As the man walked, all the horses turned to watch him, and some reached out their noses to brush him. None of them made a sound. Daine frowned, and reached her mind toward the horses. She felt, to her irritation, that none would speak to her, except for the gentle mare.  
  
/He is pack, / the mare said, nuzzling at Daine's elbow. /Not like you. Different.../ With all her cajoling, Daine could get no more out of the horse. Frustrated, she shifted her eyes into a hawk's, and peered toward the man's hooded face.  
  
Before it happened, the man seemed to hear something, and he glanced up. Purple met startled yellow, and for a moment, Daine saw a flash of colors. A tinge of black and gold, purple, then... white.  
  
White?  
  
Why white?  
  
She had never seen the color white whenever she saw an immortal. Whatever strange creature he was, he was not human.  
  
These thoughts she considered, as she crumpled on the ground. 


End file.
